


One

by Tambores (LovelyAche)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyAche/pseuds/Tambores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted on the 27th of September, 2009.<br/>For Annis_Pekka and Soundof_Drums</p>
    </blockquote>





	One

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the 27th of September, 2009.  
> For Annis_Pekka and Soundof_Drums

“You lied to her,” the Master pointed out with relative ease, dipping his head back against the cold stone of the TARDIS’ throne chair, green eyes blinking down. “Isn’t that somewhat of an incongruence? To tell the woman about her future when you have destroyed it.”

It was such an ancient, pointless and ultimately endless scuffle they’d both got lock in.

Truth be told, both adversaries felt, as their minds tingled warningly, that this particular battle had been going for long, too long. And yet, neither had found a precise way of measuring it, here -- not in the one place time didn’t seem to exist in accordance to the many carefully organized and regulated Time Lord conventions. Whereas, neither had any of them found a reason for trying to comprehend it better, either. So, it continued to exist, the impasse, standing as _in_ significant as ever before: distorting their sight like a thick glass wall and as real as one.

Perhaps only a few mere seconds passed by since the whirlpool of energy had drew them in, maybe it had been centuries, thousands, millions, trillions, countless numbers ago. Beyond time and space _themselves_. It was even possible that the Universe around them didn’t exist anymore, not as a whole – only them, and this room, forever locked away from the time-space reality. Where – together – intertwined, both enemies stood, going round and round in their careful orbit around each other; waiting to see whom would dare to strike first.

“No.” the Doctor replied, fingers caressing the ship’s console. It wasn’t real -- nothing was real. He knew that. The way the material parted its way to melt before his fingertips, revealing an empty hole of… nothing at all, had been a dead giveaway.

Even their selves, they _weren’t_ here, not as physical entities, as something tangible that could be accounted for. Maybe, the Doctor often wondered, they had become the new, revengeful gods – the creational energy of an unborn universe. Good and evil standing side by side inside this makeshift ship, ultimately nothing but a fake TARDIS reveling on their senses and memories. Not fighting -- they seldom did, here -- but neither making peace between themselves. After all this time, these centuries of seemingly playing an unending game of tag, he’d found it very hard to go back to any previous state of friendship.

No. Definitely not in this place.

This wasn’t the future. Gallifrey was still supposed to be alive, _brimming_ with a society preparing itself for war. They hadn’t been the two last. And there was a very particular sort of wildfire setting the Doctor’s emotions ablaze as nothing else he could remember had done before, definitely not something he had experienced since a long, _long_ time ago – but what was time, anymore? Beside an inexistent dimension, seemingly banished from this reality.

The Doctor’s grip tightened around one of the metal handles ornamenting the console, pulling it down. He couldn’t help but to gaze away when the piece of plastic disappeared right before his touch and his nails dug into his palms. The entire thing was Master’s fault. He raised his head up, glaring and spitting mild words in a tone which spoke of nothing but overbearing fury. “And you will not speak of her like that!”

Usually, that was all they ever said to each other. The Doctor would remain quiet most of the time, meditating on what would have been the back rooms of the TARDIS if she hadn’t become a continuum in time and space; usually standing as farther away as possible from the Master. Though, there had been, increasingly frequent moments when he didn’t want to run away or hide, or to hold back. Not for one second longer.

_“I will kill you.”_

The Master laughed – he dared to express amusement, as he breathed against the Doctor’s ear, suddenly having appeared just _there,_ beside him;causing the Doctor to sight and turn. It was just another characteristic to the inside of the eye – for them to be everywhere at the same time -- one that hadn’t been surprising the first time it’d happened and it still wasn’t. “Really now, Doctor?” His richly embroiled Time Lord clothes, reminiscent of what had once been their world, rubbed against the Doctor’s neck in a flurry of skin and fabric.

If anything, it only made the Doctor angrier, positively seething furious – the way this reality seemed to enjoy and relish on the Master’s every word, obeying him even when there were no orders to be listened to and no logic to be followed.

“Yes,” there was a snarl, a deeply rooted sound of hatred racking its way through his throat, one that would have stunned the Doctor into stopping – if this were any other moment -- but didn’t hinder his current action. “Yes I _will_.”

With that, he was all over the Master, hands clawing at his clothes, ripping them open to reveal the previously hidden tanned skin, nails sinking into the other’s flesh. The Master fought back, arching away and allowing the Doctor to taste some of his poison, slamming their mouths together roughly as his muscles tensed; but it was tremendously difficult task, to tear the other away and apart when he’d been _so close_ just a moment before. Or had it been millennia ago? It didn’t matter now.

“Do you really think so? You know you can’t…” the Master almost hummed his scathing words against the hollow of the Doctor’s neck, darting his tongue to lick at the sweaty skin in front of it. But it was a short lived consent and he gasped and squirmed away when his opponent snaked a hand around his neck – squeezing so _tight_ and causing the Master’s jaw to plummet, mouth hanging open.

He wouldn’t allow it – no, not ever again and definitely not like what they’d once been: The last thing the Doctor wanted to experience was pleasure; for either of them to enjoy this.And he would make sure they didn’t. His fingers gripped the Master’s throat, pressing against it hard enough for him to make sure the respiratory bypass wouldn’t work this time, hard enough to leave a purple ring on the other’s skin, unyielding the contact. It really wasn’t mindful, even before initiating this little encounter; he hadn’t meant to snuff the Master’s life out of his body. Whereas, now there he was – ignoring the way the other’s breaths left his mouth in a choir of shallow, sharp wheezes as he choked without air.

It was sheer _insanity_ as he’d never experienced it before, he wasn’t the Master. And the Doctor didn’t know, had no reason to understand just how explicit those flickers of madness got.

There it was in all their blatancy: the warning, the red lights, and the noise as the Master’s consciousness crashed against his own mind over and over again, pleadingly so before slowing down to a halt, humming words that the Doctor never got to listen. Yet, he never, even for a moment, allowed himself to stop, to be merciful ever again. Curly brown hair fell against his forehead, damp, obstructing his view until the Doctor fell his eyes drop, making its way to darkness, and the offensive hand slipped away from the Master, fingers falling back to sooth the side of his head.

He didn’t come back. There were no muscles twitching nor fluttering heartbeats when the Doctor lowered both their bodies onto the carpeted floor, nor as he lifted one of the Master’s legs. By now, the only thing driving him forward was the overwhelming wrath all directed towards the Master. He’d ruined it all again – ruined both their lives and the Doctor would make him pay -- yes he would -- pay! In a way he hadn’t found possible ever before.

When he pressed inside the other Time Lord’s body, it wasn’t pleasure he felt. In reality, the Doctor didn’t feel anything but all but the growing anger and the dry, somewhat relaxed muscles gripping at the head of his cock. Whereas this body had never had any sort of experience with sex – it still felt wrong, misplaced. There was nothing meeting his thrusts, no force whatsoever to stop the Master’s body from slipping all the way down to floor until his head hit the center of the console with a snapping thud. But the Doctor didn’t notice it, being far too engulfed in his own reverie – of killing the Master again and _again_ – to realize he’d already done so and there was no point in continuing to torture a corpse.

That was when he became conscious of it.

“Oh god,” there was a sharp gasp and a sick wet noise as the Doctor unsheathed himself and pulled away from the Master’s limp body, looking down at the slim layer of blood coating his cock, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” he wanted to kneel by the Master’s side, to apologize profusely and try to mend this hole in their – well, whatever now existed between them. That would be what the _Doctor_ would have once done.

But those times were long gone; they’d been wasted away in this timeless reality.

Now, imagining a bed, he simply reorganized the sheets, pushed one of the pillows behind the Master’s head, trying not to vomit at the spent, _imagined_ lines written all over the other’s face, and left. It was inconspicuously easy to slip away and melt into the gloom surrounding the room, as silent as a shadow and probably as real as one too.

He couldn’t escape this reality, none of them could. And if the Master ever wanted his payback, he wouldn’t need to search for the Doctor, because he was still there – as close as before, still continuing in his route around the Master. Only less noticeable, a different shade of grey: one that had been tinted a darker tone in the spectrum.

Perhaps, he sometimes believed, they wouldn’t continue here forever as champions of good and evil, of time and death, ready for the final clash; maybe they’d corrupt each other and alter their existences until they were _one_.It had already begun, the Doctor was sure of it, he could almost feel it pulling at the very – darkest – end of his thoughts, at his core, creeping its way through his logic and tainting it. Before, he would have reprehended himself for thinking akin to the Master, and for relishing on those ideas… but there was no point in fighting the inevitable in a place like this.

The Doctor placed a hand on the arm of the chair previously occupied by his opponent, running his fingertips over its surface, senses tingling. It felt strange, dreamlike, almost as if his body didn’t belong to him anymore. He’d planted his seed inside the Master, now, he was watching it _bloom_ **.**

And it was all about precision.

Technically, the Master’s body still rested at ease over the bed; but details didn’t mean anything inside this distorted TARDIS of his. The Doctor couldn’t even tell if his hearts were still beating, as unsynchronized as ever before, if they’d stopped long ago or if the long, timed buzz inside his head meant they’d thawed back into one another. There wasn’t such a thing an illusion, not in this reality where everything was a part of them, and yet, the Doctor was sure he could feel the other Time Lord just beside himself, while at the same time, his eyes did perceive the Master’s body and the way his chest didn’t rise or fall anymore -- dead, for sure.

“Well, well. I’m sure you are waiting for me to strike back, and you know _exactly_ what I think about that,” a voice whispered by his side. He didn’t find the strength to fight this back, and yet, he was sure they’d spend the rest of their eternal lives as two parts of the same mind, very different and yet just _so_ similar, battling for dominance. “So, will you offer me the pleasure of this dance?”

And soon, they would be no more; not as the Doctor and the Master – eternal outsiders. That was certain. They would twirl and coil as they danced this impossible tango of theirs, melting together in so many more ways than what imagination could offer. They would become energy, blazing strikes of fire, destroying while creating.

But far more than that: They would be one.


End file.
